Page 109 of Zorro

But not out. Not yet.

She yelled to the huddled civilians, “Move! Back against the wall! Stay low!”

She pulled out her clip. Dammit, four shots left between these people and the Black Dawn bastards.

She leaned out and fired again, pop, pop, dropping another man as his rifle clattered into the pool with a splash.

Behind her, the stairwell erupted with fresh gunfire. Flint growled, the sound feral, thunderous. Bear was still fighting down below. Buying her time.

They were fighting like hell.

When the next wave came, she wouldn’t be able to stop them, but she gripped her Glock’s textured handle. Two shots would have to count. She was taking as many of them with her as she could. Gun up. Spine straight. Eyes locked on the next breach point.

This wasn’t about survival anymore. This was about holding the line. Whatever it took, whatever she had left, Bailee was going to give it.

This time the prayer wouldn’t come. Could she pray for her own salvation after she had shunned her people, her way of life, and her family’s legacy, expectations, and disappointment?

If she died here, there would be no way to make amends or find something that had been missing—the warmth of Bear filled her up without even trying.

There would be no more time to explore the man who fascinated her. Who aroused her. Who made her wonder what lived behind those riverstone eyes, smooth and steady, worn by time but unbreakable. Eyes that could wear her down the way water eats into rock. A force of nature. A quiet, enduring storm.

She was a fool, and she may soon be a dead one.

16

Everly knelt beside a wounded boy no older than sixteen, wrapping a torn strip of gauze around his arm with practiced ease. Without trembling, her hands moved like memory. But her blood boiled hot enough to burn in her veins. Her rage was quiet, tightly leashed, but it filled every breath.

They’d let her help, sure, but only just. One med kit. No backup. No real access. She’d had to argue, beg, and take a slap for the privilege of keeping people alive.

Still, they watched her like a threat.

She was finishing a compression wrap when a hand clamped down on her arm, fingers bruising against her bicep.

“You. Upstairs. Now.” She looked up into the face of a Black Dawn operative, mid-thirties, scar down the left cheek. His accent was Brazilian, but his words were clean and cold. “Our leader’s been wounded. He needs a doctor.”

She froze for half a second. Her gaze flicked toward Julia and Maritza, both of whom had gone rigid.

“I’m almost done here,” Everly said evenly, not looking away.

“He is your priority now,” the man growled. Then, with no further warning, he yanked her to her feet by the arm.

Julia rose slightly, voice calm but firm. “She’s not your property.”

His weapon rose. “You should stay out of this,” the man snapped.

Maritza said, eyes narrowed. “If anything happens to her….”

The man shoved Everly toward the exit, muttering something into his radio. She stumbled, caught herself, and kept her chin high. Resisting was only going to make them hurt her.

She was furious and a little afraid. She knew, deep in her bones, Zorro and his team weren't sitting still. There was no way Zorro wasn’t coming for her, not after the heat, the promises, the commitment, and the way he was already building for a future.

Zorro was coming.

They were coming. She couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t see them. But she could feel it.

So she walked.

Head high. Hands loose. Heart ready. She was going to fight like hell.

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